


Ease

by HyfrydCymru



Series: 30 Days Challenge [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Naked Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyfrydCymru/pseuds/HyfrydCymru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotland owned a weathered cabin, lost in the great expanse of land that were the western Highlands, and regarded it as a safe house of sorts; it was nothing grand, but enough to stand firm against the harshness of the worst winters and a testament to his stubbornness and strength of will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ease

The pitter patter of the rain on the windows echoed softly through the house, and Arthur followed it with the soft tap of his fingers on Alasdair’s skin. The red head hummed softly, (in annoyance or revelry, Arthur couldn’t tell) and England felt the vibrations low on Scotland’s throat.

It had started raining the night before and then dragged on, showing no signs of ameliorating any time soon. Cutting their loses, they’d taken to staying inside and spent the hours preoccupied with various odd jobs, coming together only for meals and even then keeping their distance out of habit, and speaking only sparsely if at all. It was a comfortable kind of companionship, to be able to go hours without speaking or sparing a glance, but consciously sensing the presence of the other in the adjoining room.

(Scotland owned a weathered cabin, lost in the great expanse of land that were the western Highlands, and regarded it as a safe house of sorts; it was nothing grand, but enough to stand firm against the harshness of the worst winters and a testament to his stubbornness and strength of will.)

  It was likely that they would have spent the rest of the day like that were it not for the fact that sometime around 4 in the afternoon the storm had picked up, and the hollering wind along with it. That on itself had been foreseeable, but the snapping sound of the shutters bursting open posed a sudden predicament neither was prepared for.

            Dropping whatever had them entertained at the moment, both had rushed outside to rope in the wooden screens as best they could in the downpour and flashing of lightning. What was normally a job for a single pair of hands took their combined efforts to accomplish when the rope frayed, a feat that left them wringing-wet and their hands burnt with friction by the time they were done.

            They’d trailed a bucket’s worth of water inside with them and decided, for benefit’s sake, to shuck their mud-logged clothing in the entrance, Arthur staying behind to hang them from the rafters, save for the boxers he wore, whilst Alasdair went to find some towels.

“Strip,” Scotland instructed when he returned, referring to the pants, and throwing a towel his way; he himself was bare for Arthur’s eyes to gauge and seemingly at ease in his undressed state.

            Wrapping the tossed towel around his waist, England complied, and Alasdair raised a thick eyebrow, nonbelieving of Arthur’s modesty.

“There’s still the floor to dry,” England voiced walking past Scotland and into the single bedroom to fetch whatever dry clothes he could find.

“Leave it,” Alasdair followed suit and sprawled on the threadbare double mattress, arms folded behind his head. “And strip.”

            Arthur gave him a dirty look from the far corner of the room, which Scotland took in stride with one of his own, patting the covers with one hand.

            Letting the towel drop to the floor, he worked hard to ignore leery roaming of Scotland’s eyes and clambered on the bed with as much of a gap between them as the narrow box spring allowed and keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling in stubborn resolve.

            The minutes passed and Alasdair found himself curling his fingers to the side of Arthur’s face, tracing the memories of ash on his skin with a peculiar sort of kindness. It took England a moment to turn on his side to face Scotland, and then another to bury his face in the crook of Alasdair’s neck, breathing in a sight of defeat as the scot brought his arms around the frame of England’s shoulders, victorious but mercifully nonvocal; bringing them to their current embrace, legs tangled and skin warmer where it made contact with the other.

            Arthur’s fingers came to a stop and rested lightly on Alasdair’s chest when the scot ran a hand up and down his spine, starting a pattern of soft caresses.

            The storm lasted for hours yet. The floor and their clothes never quite dried

**Author's Note:**

> First day of 30! Look forward to the updates!


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